“You trust everyone,” she said, with a small, aloof smile, as if she were trying to appear courteous while her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Yes, to my undoing,” he told her grimly.  “I trusted him to the utmost, and—­and he has betrayed my trust.”

She started at that, but instantly controlled herself.  “In what way?” she asked him, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

He drew the cheque-book to him.  “If you look at this cheque and the next,” he said, “you will see that there is one missing.  There has been a cheque taken out.”

“Yes?” said Chris.

Her eyes rested for a moment upon the cheque-book, and returned to his face.  They held a curious expression as of relief and doubt mingled.

“That is how he betrayed my trust,” he told her quietly.  “He used that cheque to forge my signature and withdraw a sum of money from my account which under ordinary circumstances I should probably never have missed.  As he is aware, I keep a large account, and I am in the habit of drawing large cheques.  As it chanced, the account was not quite so large as usual, and it did not quite cover the amount withdrawn.  Consequently my attention was called to it, and I looked into the matter and discovered—­this.”

“Yes?” said Chris.  “Yes?”

She was breathing very fast.  It was evident that her agitation was getting beyond her control.

He clasped her hands closer, with a warm and comforting pressure.  He knew—­or he thought he knew—­what this revelation would mean to her.  Had not Bertrand been even more her friend, her trusted counsellor, than his own?

“That is all the story, dear,” he said gently.  “We have got to face it as bravely as we can.  He will leave in the morning, so you need not see him again.”

She made a quick, involuntary movement, and her hands slipped from his.

“Not see him again!” she repeated, staring at him with wide eyes.  “Not see him again!”

“I think it would be wiser not,” he said, very kindly.  “It would only cause you unnecessary pain.”

She uttered a sudden breathless little laugh.  “Trevor—­am I dreaming?  Or—­are you mad?  You don’t—­actually—­believe he did this thing?”

His face hardened a little.  “He had the sense not to attempt to deny it.  There was no question as to his guilt.  He was the only person besides myself who had access to my cheque-book.”

“But—­” Chris said, and paused, as if to collect her thoughts.  “How much was taken?” she asked after a moment.

“That,” Mordaunt observed, “is the least important part of the whole miserable business.”

“Still, tell me,” she persisted.

“He took five hundred pounds.”

“Trevor!” She gasped for breath, and turned so white that he thought for a moment she would faint.

He put his arm round her quickly.  “Chris, we won’t discuss it any further to-night.  You must go back to bed.  You will catch cold if you stay here any longer.”